


The Last Petal

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People who seemed to know her called her Belle, but that didn't feel like her name. It was what he had called her, the man from the road with the fireballs and the glowing hands and the magic teacup. She didn't like it. It didn't feel like it was her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By Any Other Name

She didn't know who she was.

People who seemed to know her called her Belle, but that didn't feel like her name. It was what he had called her, the man from the road with the fireballs and the glowing hands and the magic teacup. She didn't like it. It didn't feel like it was her name. 

They called her Belle like she was their friend, but she didn't know any of them.

The hospital was familiar, the smell of it. It was all she'd known for years, and it felt safer being back there, especially after everything that happened in the forest. She didn't know how she got there, or why the fireball man was holding onto her so tight or why he pushed and pushed and pushed his way to her with words and cups and not listening to a word she was saying.

She didn't want his stupid cups or his magic or fireballs or all the things that were strange and frightening. It was all too too too much. It crowded in on her, a world that she wanted to put from her mind. The hospital walls felt safe compared to that, and all she wanted was to be left in the quiet, just for a little while, to pick through the pieces and find the edges. 

A girl with black hair came and sat with her. She called herself Ruby and said they were going to keep her safe.

She didn't know what they were keeping her safe from. Probably the man with the glowing hands. They had stopped him following her when they reached the hospital. They hadn't kept him away, though, and he pushed at her, talking of castles and magic and enchantment, as if she didn't know that was all made up.

When she was closed away in the basement, it was because she believed in all those things, and they told her she was crazy. They locked her up and took her freedom because she said that magic was real. And now, there was a man with glowing hands and fireballs, and she couldn't pick out what was real and what wasn't.

She couldn't even remember her own name.

It wasn't Belle. If she believed him that she was Belle, if she believed that, then she would believe in magic, and she couldn't do that, not again, not when she was free from the cell. If she just sat quiet and small and learned this new world and pretended not to see magic or hear magic, she could be free all the time.

They left her to sleep, but one of them was always nearby. She didn't know why.

Were they guarding her? Or stopping her escaping?

She took the wires from her hands, she told them she wanted to stretch her legs, they didn't argue, and they didn't follow her. It was almost like freedom, walking through a door that wasn't locked. It was quiet and bright and sunlight came in windows and people nodded to her, and she felt like a real person. 

Nothing about it was familiar.

She didn't see any faces she knew.

She didn't see any halls that she remembered.

The only thing that was the same was the chemical smell.

She made her way through the corridors, her arms wrapped tight around her middle. She felt small in a world too big for her. Too many years closed up in a box. When the box got bigger, she got smaller. If they told her she could leave the hospital, she didn't know if she would be able to. Too big. All too big. 

She looked through windows into wards. 

Nurses were coming and going, doctors walking this way and that, patients sitting or lying in their beds. All of them seemed to know their place in a way that she couldn't. She retreated back to the room that was hers and dragged the chair to the window and looked out at the world. 

It was green and bright and she felt tears on her face, wishing she could remember the life everyone seemed to believe she had forgotten. The glass was cool against her fingers, and she watched mist expand around her hand.

"Belle?"

She didn't turn. "That isn't my name," she whispered.

"Sure it is," the girl - Ruby - said. "You told me that the first time we met."

She spread her fingers, smearing the faint mist. "I don't want to be called that," she said, sitting back in the chair. "It's not me."

Ruby approached her, leaning against the window ledge. "What do you want to be called?" she asked. She looked worried. Sounded worried.

The girl who wasn't Belle shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." She folded her hands together tight in her lap. "I could be Margy or Verna or anything."

Ruby crouched down by her chair, looking up at her. "You don't look like a Margy," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Or a Verna. That makes me think of high collars and buttons and a stern teacher."

That almost earned a small, wan smile. "I'm not stern?"

Ruby shook her head. "You're a sweetheart," she said, offering her hand. She didn't push, which was good, and it didn't feel so scary to take her hand. Ruby put her head to one side. "Do you have a book you like? Maybe use a name from that?"

Books.

Of course.

She liked books once, a long time ago. She couldn't remember the last time she held one. She looked at Ruby's hand. "I don't remember," she said quietly. She looked over at the cabinet beside the bed. "Maybe a flower? You said my father worked with flowers?"

Ruby's face lit up. "There are lots of those," she said. "Daisy, Poppy, Lily, Rose, Iris..."

"Rose." It felt like a good name. A right name. Something in her mind told her that roses were good and important, and that was something she needed. Her smile trembled on her lips. "I'm Rose."

"Rose," Ruby said, nodding. "It suits you." She straightened up. "How about we go for a walk, Rose? We could even go outside. Get some air?"

The thought of it made Rose's heart flutter nervously. Outside was big and open and frightening. "Can we stay inside?" she asked. "I-I don't think I'm ready for outside yet."

Ruby squeezed her hand. "Of course. Whatever you want."

They did another circuit of the hospital, taking a different route to the one Rose had taken earlier in the day. Doctor Whale ran into them and asked how Rose was. She could almost smile, and they went on their way.

"Archie was asking if he could come by," Ruby said as they continued down the hall.

"Archie?"

Ruby looked at her. "He's another friend," she said. "You saved his life yesterday."

Rose looked down at the hospital slippers. "Seems I did a lot yesterday," she said quietly. She glanced into one of the wards, frowning at the man within. She recognised his face, even if she didn't know his name. He was the man that the fireball man had attacked. "Who's that?"

Ruby looked through the window. "You don't need to worry about him," she said, her voice cool. "C'mon. Let's get you back to the ward."

Rose let herself be guided back to the room that was hers. They didn't lock the door, which was good, but it felt like she was being watched all over again. Every time she went in or out the door, someone was sitting by it.

"Am I in danger?" she asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Ruby looked at her in surprise. "Why would you say that?"

"The guards," she said. "I-I don't think I'm a prisoner. Am I? Or are they there to keep someone out?"

Ruby looked mortified. "Oh, sweetie," she said, sitting down on the bed and clasping Rose's hands. "We just want to make sure no one hurts you again. They're there to keep people who shouldn't be here away."

"Like the man with the suit?"

“You mean Mr Gold?” Ruby looked down at their hands. "He would never hurt you," she said, raising her eyes to meet Rose's. "You don't remember, but he was very important to you."

Rose drew her hands back. "He scared me," she said quietly, twisting her hands together. "He got angry and hurt people and he scared me." Her knuckles were white and she took a small, shivering breath. "I don't want to see him again. I don't want anything to do with him."

One side of Ruby’s mouth turned up but it wasn’t a smile. "He's not so bad, once you get to know him."

Rose looked up at her. "Don't tell me what I should be thinking," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't tell me that I’m ignorant just because I don't know." She flinched when Ruby squeezed her hands. "I-I'd like to be on my own, please."

"Rose..."

Rose averted her eyes. "Please," she whispered. "I don't have much I can do myself, but I want to be on my own. Let me have that."

She didn't look up until Ruby left and she pulled her knees up against her chest, hugging them. People kept telling her what she should be doing, how she should be thinking, who she should be trusting, and no one would tell her why.

She slid down off the bed, wrapping her robe tight around her, and made her way back into the hospital. It was quieter, with less visitors now, and she ignored the man sitting by her door, even when he asked where she was going.

It wasn't a shock that her feet carried her back to the ward where the man who had been attacked was lying. She looked through the window at him. She remembered seeing the car hit him, remembered seeing him fall, remembered the fireball man pinning him down with his stick and being pulled back by the Sheriff and the man who said he was the Sheriff's father.

He was bruised and hooked up to tubes and drips. He was trying to feed himself from a tray of bland food, hindered by a chain around his right wrist. He looked harmless compared to the fireball man, and yet, they said the fireball man was safer.

She hesitated, then opened the door.

He looked up at her, lowering the spoon back into the bowl. "Well, well," he said. "You're the last person I expected to visit."

Rose looked at him. "Do you know me?"

"We've met," he said, leaning back against the pillows with a wince. "I'm amazed he let you come and see me."

Rose shut the door behind her. "No one tells me what to do," she said quietly.

The man in the bed looked at her, a strange expression in his eyes, as if he was mulling over a problem. "And here you are," he said. "Tell me, love, why have you come to see me?"

Rose wrapped her arms over her middle. "Because you were there," she said. "He tried to attack you."

"Ah, yes," he said. "The crocodile."

Rose frowned. "Crocodile?"

"You can hardly call a beast as dangerous as that a man's name, can you?"

Rose shivered, remembering the fireball, remembering the way he struck the man with the cane. "He wanted to hurt you."

"Well-observed," he said with a grim smile. "We are what you would call mortal enemies. To be quite honest, I'm amazed he hasn't come and finished the job, what with me being all tied down and helpless. They seem to think he can be trusted, but me? Oh, no. Untrustworthy and evil. Tied up and left to suffer."

Rose approached the bed, looking at him. "Why?"

He looked at her with swollen blue eyes. "It's a long and tiresome tale," he said, "with a great deal of love and loss and hurt." He nodded to his tray of uneaten food. "But while you're here, would you be an angel and help me?" He held up his left arm, a bandaged stump. "I'm at something of a disadvantage."

Rose stared at the stump. "From the car?"

He shook his head. "Oh, no," he said. "This was the crocodile. He took it from me, when he thought I had something he wanted."

Rose felt ill. "He... cut off your hand?"

"There are worse things to lose," he said with a quick smile that wasn't entirely convincing. "Where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced." He unfolded the shackled hand and offered it to her, as much as the cuff would allow. "Killian Jones."

Rose hesitated, then slipped her hand into his. "Rose," she said. "Rose French."


	2. A Dishonest Man, Honestly

Killian Jones was not a man to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Particularly not when the gift horse in question was the amnesiac love of his mortal enemy's life. 

Unlike the feisty little firecracker he had met the day before, she was no longer a woman who would push a book trolley on him or crack him over the head with an oar. He would have felt more ashamed of breaking such an interesting little piece of skirt, if she hadn't been so very useful. 

If he was to be honest, he was surprised to still be breathing.

His intention had originally been to kill the man who killed Milah, but the way the crocodile looked at his lady, the way he looked when she fell, when she cried out, when she looked at him and didn't know him, was so much more painful than death. 

Killian expected to be blood and messes.

That was always the nature of revenge.

His crew had fallen back in his wake, lost boys each and every one. They had tried to dissuade him, after decades started turning into centuries, but they didn't know - had never understood - just what Milah had meant to him. 

And yet, he lived, and the crocodile slinked away, leaving his precious little love to wander into the rooms of dangerous men. Dangerous men who might be so short on morals that they would gently woo the lady in question to their side with that most wretched weapon: the truth.

In her cell in the Queen's castle, in the library, on his ship, Belle had been a fierce little hellcat, but now, when she came to his room, she was skittish and wary, her arms wrapped around herself as if they could protect her from the world. Hardly the same girl at all. 

Smee had told him all about the power of the curse holding Storybrooke.

Everyone in Storybrooke had two sets of memories. If they crossed the line, the person they were in the Enchanted Forest was wiped away. An interesting curse, though it did make him wonder just who dear little Belle had been.

No. 

Not Belle.

Belle was dead and gone now.

Rose was the woman who visited him.

Rose was the woman who listened to him when he spoke of the crocodile's brutality.

He was treading carefully, because this was a game he couldn't afford to lose. It had been a long time since he had needed to charm a nervous woman. 

The women who usually crossed his path were strong-willed, powerful, and tended to be flattered when he flirted with them. Those who weren't were not of interest or useful in his quest. He could smile and wink at any woman who could get him what he needed, and they never noticed that the flirting in his voice never quite reached his eyes. 

Rose French was a different kind of game and it was invigorating.

Once, he had tried to be a gentleman. 

It didn’t really take, so he became a pirate instead, but some of the lessons stuck. Lessons like when to hold back in a conversation, not to push too hard and drive the lady away. All very tedious, but now, with the chance for an even sweeter vengeance, suddenly much more challenging.

She only came at night, when she slipped the attention of her so-called protectors, and would help him eat the bland mess of food that was provided. If she had not come, he wondered if he would have been left to starve. 

Probably not.

Sheriff Swan's father kept sticking his nose around the door to make sure he was ‘behaving’. He never specified whether it was meant to be well or badly, which he took as leave to do whatever the hell he pleased. 

He never mentioned his nocturnal visitor to the man, and he didn’t even ask. He didn’t ask much, except where she might find Cora, but that was of no interest to Killian anymore. Each of them had their own fish to fry and the sooner the man left, the sooner he could get back to the griddle.

The fourth night was when it was clear that as little as Swan Senior had been asking him, he knew about Rose French’s nightly visits.

Rose entered the room, but she closed the door and didn’t immediately look at him. She looked frailer, as unsteady as she had the first night she had come. She tugged the sleeves of her dressing gown, and skirted the room, keeping to the walls.

Killian clenched his teeth in silent frustration. 

Clearly, someone had been telling tales to alarm her.

“Something wrong, love?” he asked as lightly as he could.

Rose remained in the far corner of the room, and looked up at him. Her hands were twisting over and over in front of her. “The Acting Sheriff,” she said haltingly. “He said that you were the one who shot me.”

Killian circled the ball of his thumb with the tip of his forefinger. “He’s not wrong,” he finally said. “You were between me and the crocodile. I was trying to hurt him.”

Rose shifted from one foot to the other. “You shot me.”

“You weren’t the target,” he said, only barely a lie. “And your new friends are hardly ones to judge. The Sheriff herself betrayed me and left me for dead before.”

Rose whimpered like an animal in pain, her hands clasping at her head. “Why is everybody telling me so much? Why is everybody lying?” she demanded, her voice breaking. “I-I-I keep getting told that these people are good, those people are bad, and no one is telling me the truth!”

Killian looked at her. It was the steady look of a natural liar. “I won’t lie to you,” he said, and for once, he knew it was true. 

After all, why lie to her, when the truth would be so much more fun to wield? The crocodile was hardly a Knight in shining armour, after all. Why fill her head with colourful lies, when all she had to know was that he was murderer and madman?

She lowered her shaking hands and stared at him. “Why did you shoot me?” she demanded, running towards the bed, gripping the end of it until her knuckles were white.

“As I said,” he said, holding her eyes and opening his hand, palm-up, harmless. “I wanted to hurt that bastard. You just happened to get in the way.” He almost apologised, but no. The truth had to be the whole truth for her. No lying, because that would be much less fun. To be honest would be an awfully big adventure.

She was breathing unsteadily, staring at him, wild-eyed. “Why?”

“Why?”

She pointed at him with a shaking finger. “It wasn’t just about your hand. No man would be so angry about their hand.”

It was funny - in the way that was completely unamusing - how much it still made the air shrink from his lungs to think of Milah, of her heart, to see her falling, to hear her last words as that son of a whore squeezed the life from her.

He looked away from her. “It wasn’t just about my hand,” he said tersely. He drew a breath then looked up. He didn’t even bother trying to pull on his usual smile. She wanted truth, he would give her truth. “He murdered someone I loved.”

She stared at him with those fear-filled blue eyes, and he didn’t look away, daring her to ask, daring her to demand, daring her to want to know just what a bastard the crocodile really was, but she didn’t. She stared at him, then slowly uncurled her fingers from the end of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, skirting the edge of the bed.

He snorted. “What for? You didn’t do it.”

She rested her hip against the edge of the bed, her fingers plucking at the blankets that covered his legs. “I’m sorry that she died,” she said quietly, watching her fingers pulling the blanket up into little tents. She looked up, an unfamiliar look in her eyes. She was looking at him with… pity? “But vengeance won’t bring her back.”

He closed his eyes. So the brave little Belle wasn’t entirely gone, it seemed. 

“It would make it easier,” he said. “An eye for an eye and all that.”

“A woman for a woman?” she said quietly.

He opened one eye. “You think I did it on purpose?”

“I don’t think you wanted me dead,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Everyone keeps telling me I… mean something to him. Did I?”

Killian laid his head back against the pillows. “You did indeed,” he said. “He had himself fooled into believing he was capable of loving you.” He breathed slowly in and out, his ribs aching with every breath. “Me, though, I don’t see anything loving about binding a woman to a life of indentured servitude to pay off her father’s debts.”

She didn’t speak at once, her hands twisting together in her lap again.

“My father’s debts?” she asked in a small voice.

“Mm.” Killian’s head pressed back against the pillow and he winced again, air hissing between his teeth. One broken rib was bad enough, but his whole chest felt like it had caved in and been repaired badly. 

She looked at him. “Are… do you need a doctor?”

“It’s only a little pain,” he demurred, softening the truth somewhat.

She pushed herself off the bed. “It doesn’t look like a little,” she said. “Wait here.” She was halfway to the door before she realised what she had said and paused, looking back at him with a tentative, embarrassed smile. “I mean, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Only when she was gone did he let the curses break from between clenched teeth.

The metal carriage had hit him hard, and damned if he wasn’t feeling every bit of the impact.

The door opened again several minutes later, but Killian didn’t even bother speaking to the fair-haired man who checked the tubes and wires. All his attention was in hiding the pain and forcing a smile. The Sheriff had warned them of who and what he was, and to be cautious, but they were dust in the wind to him. He didn’t want or need their pity or kindness. 

Rose approached the side of the bed, and he looked at her. It was easier to ignore the pain, if he remembered what he had ahead of him, the fun he could have, the damage he could do.

He felt her fingers curl over the edge of his hand, and a small, uncertain smile touched the corners of her lips. She was looking at him with concern, and that was certainly an odd experience. Concern wasn’t something a pirate tended to experience in great amounts. The last person who had…

Killian’s breath caught and that made his chest burn again.

“It’s okay.” Rose’s hand tightened on his. “The doctor’s going to give you something for the pain.”

“Get out of here,” he hissed. “Get out!”

She jerked back as if he had struck her again. “What?”

His breathing was coming thick and fast and no one looked at him like that, no one, especially not some brain-addled little tart who was stupid enough to fall in love with someone like the crocodile. “Get out!” he snarled, jerking upright. The pain sent red mist cascading behind his eyes. “Get out!”

She fled, as any scared little child would, from the big bad monster, and Killian fell back against the pillows, gasping hard.

The doctor was looking at him with an expression of utter contempt. “Haven’t you done enough to that girl?” he inquired, tapping one of the strange needles and injecting it into one of the tubes.

Killian looked at him with loathing. He could taste blood on his tongue, and if his hook had been in place, he would have twisted it up in the good doctor’s belly. “Follow her lead, old boy,” he said. “I’m in no mood for company.”

The doctor ignored him, checking the screens and panels of lights again. “Don’t think I’m scared of someone like you, Captain,” he said. He slanted a look sideways at Killian. “I have dealt with far worse.” He put his hand on Killian’s chest suddenly, pressed, earning a sharp cry of pain. “And don’t terrorise my patients. Are we clear?”

“You son of…”

The doctor pressed that little harder. “You got on the wrong side of a lot of people, Captain,” he said mildly. “I wouldn’t recommend upsetting anyone else.” He smiled. “Are we clear?”

Killian bared bloody teeth. “Crystal,” he hissed.

The doctor nodded approvingly and followed the girl out the door, closing it firmly behind him, as Killian slumped back against the pillows. 

The fresh medicine was working already, but there was something else, something that was more than loathing for the crocodile, something new and old and something he had forgotten for a long while: the recollection of the softness of a woman’s hand and the plain and simple impulse to kick someone’s arse until it was a different shape.


	3. Not Only What They Are

Rose couldn’t sleep right away.

Killian Jones had alarmed her.

Not frightened, which surprised her, especially after he confessed that he had shot her on purpose. No. Not frightened. There was something else. When she touched his hand, he had recoiled as if he didn’t know what it was to be touched like that, and the expression on his face was something she didn’t recognise. Something like fear but not that.

She pulled her blanket up to her chin and stared blankly at the blinds covering the window.

Something she did had upset him, but all she had done was touch his hand to comfort him when he was in pain. It wasn’t as if her hand had glowed or she’d been trying to hold him still, with hands on his legs, like the other man had done to her.

None of it made sense to her. None of it.

She must have fallen asleep. She didn't remember it, but she must have, because she was woken, gasping and shaking, by a nightmare. 

It wasn't clear, only fragments, but there was a howling animal that looked like a cross between a bear and a wolf. It was on fire. Then there were the two men, Killian Jones and the other man, the one everyone called Gold, and she was torn like a rag doll between them, both of them pulling her in opposite directions until she split in two.

It didn't take a psychiatrist to see that Gold and Jones were bothering her, both of them, in very different ways. 

She slipped off the bed and pulled the blanket off with her, wrapping it around her like a cloak. The room wasn't too cold, but it was cool enough for her to need the warmth, and there was something comforting about being wrapped up in a warm blanket.

She sank down into the chair by the window, pulling her feet up onto the seat, and looked out into the darkness. The street lights shone like fireflies all in a row, and here and there, she could see the window of a house, lit up softly against the night. 

When it was quiet like that, it didn't seem so frightening.

It wasn't like the dark road in the forest, where everything was noise and shouting and fire and anger.

She felt hot tears on her cheeks and hastily rubbed them away.

Crying wouldn't help anyone, especially not her, especially not now.

She pulled the blankets more snugly around her, like caterpillar in its cocoon, and propped her chin on her upraised knees. She felt bad for upsetting Killian, but then she knew she should be upset with him for being the one who shot her. 

Yet it felt like too much energy, too much sadness, too much everything to hold a grudge, to be angry with a man who was already hurt.

She hugged her legs tighter beneath the blanket and stared blindly out of the window. 

She was still sitting there long after the sun rose, and barely even turned when the door opened behind her. It would be Ruby. It was always Ruby. She brought breakfast. Because of the hospital food, she said. Rose couldn't remember anything aside from hospital food, and she had to agree that anything that wasn't hospital food was a welcome change.

"Hey, sweetie," Ruby said brightly, her heels clattering across the floor. She set down a shallow box crammed with food onto the table. "How are you?"

Rose unfolded one leg then the other from the chair. She felt stiff and sore and tired, but she rose and she smiled. "I'm okay." She paused, frowning. There was a man standing in the doorway, someone she didn't recognise, and she drew back, closer to the window. "Who's that?"

The man was tall, with red hair, glasses, and a small smile that looked cautious and kind. "I'm Archie," he said. "We've met before, but..."

"I don't remember," Rose said. "So I keep getting told." She held the blanket closer around her, not taking her eyes from him. "What do you want?"

"He just wanted to come to visit," Ruby said, raising her hands in a calming gesture. "Archie's a good guy. I know you don't want anyone poking at you, but Archie's a psychiatrist. He might be able to help you sort through what you remember." She offered a worried, hopeful smile. "Maybe, help you remember more?"

Rose knew it was only meant in kindness, but she remembered psychiatrists. She remembered them placing cups of pills in front of her. She remembered protesting that she wasn't crazy, crying as she was held down by orderlies, fighting against restraints that were too strong for her as pills were tipped down her throat and doctors wrote about her on charts.

Ruby had tried to explain that the memories weren't necessarily all real, but that didn't help. How was she meant to define between the ones that were real and the ones that weren't? She didn't know, and so many strangers were telling her so many different things, she didn't know what to believe.

She sat down silently at the table, pulling her feet up onto the chair and wrapping herself tight again. Ruby was unpacking the food and setting it out on plates, but she was doing it without talking, and she looked worried.

Archie remained where he was. "You don't need to talk, if you don't want to," he said. His voice was gentle and calming. "How about some company? I could tell you about Storybrooke? Or we could tell you anything you want to ask about?"

Rose looked up at him. "Will you tell me the truth?" she asked quietly.

"O-of course," he said.

Rose's fingers were biting into her calves, but she nodded. "Okay," she agreed. 

He approached and hauled over one of the spare chairs from beside the bed. The ward was big enough for four people, but they let her have it all to herself. She still didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

He sat on the opposite side of the table, and back in the chair. He didn't lean forward or fold his arms. He just sat and laced his hands together in his lap, and he even smiled at Ruby as she poured them hot tea from a thermos flask.

Rose freed one of her arms from the blankets to take one of the bagels. She nibbled at it, but she wasn't really hungry at all. She was tired and she was unhappy and she just wanted to be able to go home, wherever home was. 

Ruby picked up her own cup. "So," she said. She didn't like silence. Rose had noticed that over the last couple of days. "How did you sleep?"

Rose shrugged. "Okay," she said. "The bed here is better than my old one."

Ruby fiddled with her cup, then said carefully, "Are you still visiting that man?"

Rose looked down at the bagel. "If you mean Killian Jones," she said quietly, "Yes." She looked up at them defiantly. "Why shouldn't I?"

"He's a dangerous man, Rose," Ruby said. "He shot you!"

Rose set the bagel down. She'd barely taken four bites, but she felt sick. "I know," she said. "He told me why. He wanted to hurt that man. The one you said was called Gold?"

Ruby nodded. "Mr Gold," she said.

Rose tucked her arms back inside the blankets. "Did Mr Gold make me work for him to pay off my father's debts?" she asked quietly. It had been troubling her, ever since Killian had told her. "Did he make me live in his house and work for him?"

Ruby and Archie exchanged looks.

"Technically, it's true," Archie said, "but that doesn't mean Mr Gold's feelings for you are any less sincere because of the way your relationship started."

Rose looked at him blankly. "Everyone seems so sure I'm in a relationship with him," she said, shaking her head in confusion. "Everything I've heard about him, everything I've seen, makes me wonder why."

Ruby set down her cup. "He might not be the best man in the world," she said, "but he's been making a real effort for you."

Rose wrapped her arms around her knees. "So he's not killing people anymore," she said in a small voice. "Comforting."

They didn't dispute it.

That was what made it worse.

As much as she didn't want to believe the man was in love with her, just a man would have been all right. A murderer was something else. She propped her chin on her upraised knees and rocked slowly from side to side.

"I don't want to tell you what to think," Archie said finally, "but don't believe that Jones is any better than him. He's not a good man."

Rose stared blindly at the table. "I'm seeing a theme," she said in a whisper. "Gold killed someone Killian loved. He wanted to hurt him. So he hurt me, because it would hurt Gold." She felt hot tears on her cheeks. "What makes him any worse?"

Archie glanced at Ruby. "Can you give us a moment?" he asked quietly. He looked at Rose. "If that's all right?"

She shrugged, hugging her knees tightly. 

Ruby rose, nodding, and squeezed Archie's shoulder before leaving the room.

Archie remained where he was. "If you don't mind me asking, what has Mr Jones been telling you?"

Rose swallowed hard. "He told me Mr Gold is cruel and violent. He told me that Mr Gold cut off his hand because he though Killian was holding something he wanted." She looked up at him. "He told me Mr Gold killed the woman Killian loved."

"And you believe him?"

Rose shivered. "As much as I believe anyone," she said. "He never denied that he hurt me. If he was trying to look like the good guy, he could have lied."

Archie nodded slowly. "You may be right," he said, "but it doesn't change the fact that he tortured people. Maimed them. He would have killed you."

He said it with such certainty that she shrank back in her seat. "How do you know that?" she asked in a small voice.

He loosened the collar of his shirt and opened the top two buttons, revealing a long narrow wound, curled along the edge of his collarbone. It was dark red and livid against his pale skin. "Because he asked me where to find you."

Rose stared at it, then at him. "And you told him?" she said quietly.

He looked ashamed and nodded. "You think you can be brave when you're in a life or death situation," he said, "but sometimes, the instinct of self-preservation overrules any idea of nobility you think you had." He folded his hands on the table. "You outwitted him, though. You rescued me."

"Me?" She shook her head. "I don't believe that."

"You did," he said. "You found me, freed me, and I'm here because of you."

She brushed her cheeks with one cold, trembling hand. "Why did he want me?"

"For the reasons you said," Archie replied. "He wanted to hurt Gold."

Rose nodded, setting her chin back on top of her knees. "It was never about me," she murmured, "I feel like a toy that two children are fighting over."

"You don't need to see either of them," Archie said. "Not unless you want to."

She raised her eyes to his face. "So I hide from them? When they both push and pull and I'm piggy in the middle?" She shook her head. "Someone has to talk some sense into them. Killian... doesn't lie to me. I don't lie to him. I need him to understand why he can't just kill someone. If Gold hasn't killed him because of me, then maybe he won't kill Gold."

"You'd have more luck talking to a brick wall," Archie said bluntly. "That man is living for vengeance. If you let him near you, that'll hurt Gold even more. That's what he wants. It's all he wants."

Rose gazed at him. "I don't know Mr Gold," she said with quiet finality. "I don't know if I want to know a man who will trade women for debts or murders them or cuts off a man's hand."

"But you'll talk to a man who tortured me and would have killed you?"

Rose's fingers tightened in the blanket. "So tell me about Mr Gold, then," she said quietly. "You didn't deny he'd killed people. How do you know him? What do you have to do with him? Tell me the truth."

He hesitated, just too long. "He's a pawnbroker and landowner here in town."

"You knew him before that," Rose guessed.

"I've known him a long time," Archie admitted. "There was a time when I wasn't a good person." He took a shaking breath. "God, I tried to put it behind me."

Rose propped her chin on her knees. "And that's when you knew him. When you were bad?"

Archie shifted, looking down, away, and for the first time, didn't seem like he was calm and steady-handed. "I was a thief," he said. "My parents too. They wouldn't let me stop. I... asked Mr Gold for help to be free of them. He gave me the means."

Rose closed her eyes, bile rising in her throat. "You killed them?"

Archie's breathing was unsteady, and she couldn't look at him. "Not them," he said. "My parents were too cunning. Collateral, some would say. People they threw in the line of fire. By my hand."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her blood was rushing in her ears and she felt light-headed. "Get out," she said quietly. "I have enough killers to deal with already. I don't need another one."

He didn't protest, just got to his feet and walked out of the room. She watched him talk to Ruby outside, through the half-shut blinds on the door. Ruby touched his shoulder, then came back into the room.

"You okay?" she asked.

Rose shook her head. She felt drained and exhausted. "Please tell me you haven't killed someone too."

Ruby looked at her, distraught. "Rose..."

Rose buried her face in her blanket-decked knees, trembling. How could they justify accusing one man of being a killer, while telling her to trust another one who had killed and helped them to kill? Was there anyone who hadn't killed someone in the whole hospital?

The only person she knew of who had not killed anyone to their knowledge was the man who they were all accusing.

It all felt wrong.

Ruby was in the chair beside her, and she wrapped Rose up in her arms.

Rose was too tired to protest, to struggle, to move.

She must have been persuaded to eat some more, drink some more, back to bed to sleep some more. She was tired. So very tired.

Ruby sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair, murmuring to her. She couldn't even remember what was said as she fell into an uneasy sleep. The dreams came again, bad dreams, but not enough to wake her.

By the time she did wake, it was much later in the day, and the sun was high.

Ruby was gone, but a box remained on the table with a note written in bright red ink, telling her there were cookies inside and if she called on Doctor Whale, he would make sure to get her something decent to drink with them.

Rose gazed at the note, then set it down and put on her dressing gown.

She needed to talk to someone who wasn't trying to convince her of opinions she should be having, someone who let her make up her own mind based on what she heard and saw, someone who was being honest with her.

It led her back to the same place.

Killian Jones.

She tapped lightly on the door before she opened it and peeped cautiously around the edge.

He had his eyes closed, but the moment she opened the door, he opened them, looking at her, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together in a taut line, and she had the feeling he wasn't exactly happy to see her.

"Can I come in?" she asked quietly. "I brought cookies."

His eyebrows drew together suspiciously. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Company?"

He looked at her silently for a long while, then nodded.

Rose stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.


	4. Keep to the Code

There was a plan: twist the crocodile's love against him. 

It had been easily done, without even straying from the truth. 

Of course, no plan was flawless, and Killian was rapidly realising his plan had grown a life of its own and was running rampant in the streets. She wasn't meant to look at him with sympathy. He wasn't meant to let her. When he lost control and told her to get out, she was meant to damned well stay out. The job had been done. He didn't want or need her pity.

And yet, she was sitting on the edge of his bed again, a box of cookies - whatever they were - in her lap. 

She had asked if she could come in, and he had said yes, and for the life of him, he couldn't say why. She said it was for company. It was a useful enough excuse in a hospital that had become a prison, where he was abandoned day in and day out.

There was nothing more he could tell her about the crocodile, no more truths to wring out to drive a wedge between them, and even if there were, she was already afraid and repelled enough by the man. 

Before she touched him, he considered wooing her, seducing her right out from beneath the crocodile's nose. 

Then she had touched his hand and looked at him like she gave a damn, and all he could think of was the last woman who had done any such thing. Milah had always seen right through him. For all that he played the cad, she saw the man who was always on the move, seeking adventure, dodging his past, changing his life on his own terms. That was why she loved him. That was why he loved her. 

Oh, he could play the part. The first thing he had ever learned was that people were made to be fooled, and it was role he had been playing from the moment he could walk. You were either the hustler or the mark. There was no in-between.

He flirted, he whored himself, he made charm and wit and betrayal his currency.

Before Milah, it had made him rich and successful. After Milah, it was the means to an end.

Now, he had nothing to gain from it, and nothing else to lose. 

Rose opened up the box, peering into it. "Looks like chocolate chip," she said. "Or raisins." She looked up at him. "What do you like best?"

Killian watched her. "I wouldn't know, love," he said. "I've never had one before."

She looked astonished. "You never had a cookie?"

"I was more of a sea-farer," he said. "We tended to catch what we ate. Unless a cookie can swim, I'm afraid I've missed out on that little pleasure."

To his surprise, she laughed. She looked as surprised as he did, biting off the sound and averting her eyes, as if she was ashamed. She reached into the box, pulling out a small, round object that resembled ship's biscuit dotted with chunks of brown.

"We can split them," she said, carefully cracking one in half.

"Are they meant to look like they have bits of mud baked into them?"

She looked up at him, bemused. "That's chocolate," she said. She held out a piece of the biscuit to him. "Try it."

He eyed it doubtfully. "You first."

Rose nibbled on her half of the biscuit, and when she neither started frothing at the mouth or spitting it out in disgust, he conceded to take a bite of it from her fingers. It was like ship's biscuit, if biscuit had been sweet and flavoured with rich, yet bitter chunks of whatever chocolate was.

She smiled cautiously at him. "Not so bad, huh?" she said. 

"It's all right," he acquiesced, opening his mouth for her to pop the rest of the broken biscuit into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully on it, watching her. "Why do I get the privilege of sharing your goodies, then? I get the feeling they weren't meant for me."

She pulled one foot up under her on the bed. "Like I said," she said, "they don't get to tell me what to do." She poked through the biscuits and split another one. "You're on your own. It doesn't seem fair."

"Even though I'm a dangerous man?" he said. He couldn't decide if he was taunting her or warning her. 

"Everyone I've met here seems to be dangerous," she said. "They just don't tell me straight away. You did." She shrugged, offering him another piece of biscuit. "I prefer people to be honest."

Killian leaned forward and took the biscuit from her fingertips with his teeth. He crunched on it, settling back against the pillows. "And you think I'm being honest, do you? How do you know I'm not lying? I could have a rotten heart for all you know."

She nibbled on the edge of one of the biscuits. "If you were going to lie about anything, you would have lied about shooting me," she said. "You didn't deny that." She rose and fetched herself a cup of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. "Anyway, I spoke to people and everything you said about Mr Gold was true too."

One side of his mouth twitched. "Clever girl," he said grudgingly. "Unless they're lying too."

She filled a cup for him as well, then returned to the bed. "In that case, if everyone is lying, then they're very consistent," she said. She climbed up to sit on the bed facing him, putting her head to one side. "Tell me a lie."

"How would you know if I did?" he challenged.

She sipped her water and studied him. "How would I know if you didn't?" she pointed out. "If you're such a good liar, let me see you at work."

It had been his living. It was what kept men in his mother's bed, coin in her pocket, and bread on the table. 

"What should I lie about then, love?" he challenged. 

She took another biscuit from the box. "Don't ask me," she said. "That's not proving anything. Tell me things. I'll say if I think you're lying."

He snorted. "You think you can judge me that well with a guessing game, do you?"

There was a brightness in her eyes, a spark that he had thought snuffed out when her memories were taken. "I'm perceptive," she said. She nudged his knee through the blankets. "Go on."

Killian shook his head in disbelief. Shackled to a bed after being hit by a horseless carriage and playing guessing games with the crocodile's brain-addled true love. If this fate had been predicted, he would have laughed himself sick.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, if you can't do it..."

"Don't challenge me, love," he cautioned. He looked around the room. "I hate this room."

"Easy," she said. "True." She offered him the cup of water and he drank deeply. It was strange that he had hardly noticed how thirsty he was. She set the cup back on the table at the foot of the bed. "Another."

"I don't like jello," Killian said.

She choked on the cookie, laughing. "Liar!"

He tried his utmost to look indignant. "It was not," he said. "I can't stand the stuff."

"Liar," she said again, her eyes dancing. "That was the only thing on your tray that you finished."

"Ah!" He wagged a finger at her. "That's cheating by observation."

"I never said I wouldn't," she replied. She sipped a little more of her water and waited. 

Killian drummed his fingers on the arm rest that his shackle was attached to. "I think you stay with me because you're scared of the others," he said, watching her expression.

She stiffened, and he could see the flare of emotion in her eyes. She looked down at her cup. "True," she said quietly. "That you think so." She looked back up at him with defiance. Her voice shivered when she spoke. "But it doesn't mean you're right."

"That's not a part of the game, is it?" he said, but he knew he was right, and she did too. He pushed himself up against the pillows, sitting up. His ribs still ached, but they weren't as bad as they had been. "I like this robe I'm wearing."

She eyed him. "True," she said. She took one of the cookies out of the box with one hand and cracked it in half. He opened his mouth expectantly. Rose leaned forward and dropped another piece in. The brightness had gone from her expression. She looked at him, then said, "It looks too soft for you."

In another time, another place, he might have grinned, winked, and made some remark about the fact she was paying attention to how his clothing looked on him. Instead, he held up his left arm, shaking the sleeve. "Well, it's not exactly my usual style."

Her mouth twitched, almost into a smile, but not quite. "Let me guess," she said. "The best clothes money can buy."

"No harm in looking good," he said. He prodded at his chest with his stump. "Now, the dress underneath. I'm less charmed by that."

She narrowed her eyes, chewing thoughtfully on the biscuit. "I don't think that's quite true," she said.

Killian could not remember the last time he had blushed. 

She noticed as well, the little tramp, and grinned a small, impish grin.

He snorted, and would have folded his arms over his chest, if he had been free. “Has anyone told you you’re infuriating?” he demanded. 

A rueful smile crossed her lips. “I don’t know,” she said. “Probably.” She took another biscuit from the box and looked at it. “Say what you like about memories being painful, but it would be nice to have some better ones.”

“What can a little lamb like you know about bad memories?” he said with a snort. “You’ve been in Storybrooke your whole life. Lovely place. Quiet. Tedious.”

She looked up from the biscuit. “So I’ve been told,” she said. “The first night I’ve seen the world outside the hospital was when we were in the forest.”

Killian stared at her. Regina had held her well in the Enchanted Forest, but to keep her locked up in this world was hardly making good use of such a valuable chess piece. “A bit of a homebody, were you?”

She looked back down at the biscuit, crumbling it to pieces between her fingers. “I was a patient,” she said. Her hands were shaking he noticed. “I had a room two levels down. Not as nice as this. Padded walls. Locked doors.” 

The box slipped from her hand, spilling down onto the floor. Rose gave a small, alarmed cry, scrambling down off the bed to gather the shattered biscuits in a heap. Her hands were almost shaking too much for the task.

Killian stared at her blankly. He wasn’t used to lasses being damaged. Strong, yes. Feisty, of course. Stubborn as sin, naturally. Power-crazed, occasionally. But not broken. He knew how strong women could be, and this little lamb had faced him down, gun in hand, hook in face, knowing what he had done to her before, knowing what he intended, and been the bravest he’d seen in a good long while.

Now, she was sobbing and shaking and breaking apart on the floor.

“Rose,” he said, startling himself. “Rose, leave them.”

“It-it’s a mess,” she stammered, looking at her crumb-covered hands. “I-I can’t leave a mess. They don’t like a mess.”

“Rose!” He spoke more sharply than he intended, and she looked up, flinching. He hesitated, then motioned to the side of the bed with his bandaged stump. “Come here, love. Leave them be. Tell them it was my fault, because they all know I’m a bastard.”

By the Gods, she was actually crying as she got unsteadily to her feet.

She was still standing there, out of reach, crying, when the door opened.

Killian lowered his arm at once. Snow, the precious, self-righteous Princess. He smiled grimly at her.

She ignored him, rushing to Rose’s side. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“Me?” Killian laughed outright, sprawling back into the pillow. “Oh, don’t try and blame me for every tear-stained maiden you find around here, Snow.” He smirked at her. “Well, maybe a few of them. You know I have a way with the ladies.”

“Oh, I know,” she snarled, wrapping the shaking Rose in her arms. “Don’t think I forgot what you did to Aurora!”

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. “Setting her free? Getting you and your little squad where you needed to be?”

“You tore out her heart!” Snow snapped.

Rose was shaking, not just her hands now. “Stop,” she whispered, barely audibly. Killian was watching her, though, and saw more than heard it.

“I gave it back,” he replied evenly, lowering his voice, keeping his tone calmer. Maybe the Princess noticed, maybe she didn’t. He didn’t give a damn. His eyes were on Rose. She wasn’t Belle. She never had been in this world. She was Rose, and she snuck him biscuits and talked to him, and she was shaking and pale. “You might want to get your little bird back in her cage. I hear the captive species don’t do well in the wild.”

Rose looked at him, pained, tears streaking her cheeks. “Wh-what?”

“He’s being cruel,” Snow said, holding her as if she could protect her from what had already been done.

“You want me to go?” Rose asked. She sounded lost, shaken. 

He held her gaze. “I don’t want you to come back,” he said. “Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

Fresh tears were on her pale cheeks and she stared at him. One hand wiped at her face. “Not tomorrow, then,” she whispered. 

He allowed a brief flick of a smile on one side of his mouth and winked at her. “You won’t be missed, love,” he said with just enough derision to keep Snow happy, but not too much that Rose would misunderstand. “You and those damned biscuits you shoved down my throat.”

She ducked her head, and for a moment, he thought he saw a matching flick of a smile on her lips, as Snow led her back out into the hospital, and away from him.


	5. Accept the Thorns

They didn’t leave her alone that night.

She wasn’t sure if she should she be happy or sad about it.

At least it was the nice woman, the one who seemed to have two names. Some people called her Mary Margaret. Some people called her Snow. She didn’t seem to notice or really mind, but she looked tired.

“You don’t have to stay,” Rose said, toying with the edge of her blankets.

“It’s not a problem,” Mary Margaret replied with a brief smile. “I’d feel bad leaving you alone when you were upset.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at Rose. “Are you sure he didn’t do anything to upset you?”

Rose nodded, looking down at her hands. “Just memories,” she said. “Of what was before.”

“Before you ended up in here?”

Rose chewed her bottom lip. 

No one seemed to know about the asylum, and as much as they scared her with their killing and talk of danger and safety, they hadn’t harmed her yet, but if they knew she was from down the stairs, they might try and put her back, with locks and pills and padded walls and spray-hoses and big orderlies with hard hands.

“It was bad,” she finally said. 

Mary Margaret nodded, reaching out and covering one of Rose’s hands with her own. For such a delicate lady, her hands were rough, like she worked hard a lot. “Ruby said that once, you told her you were a kept woman,” she said.

Rose felt her stomach clench at the thought. Kept. That was a good word for it. “Sort of.” She tugged her hand back. “I-I’d rather not talk about it.”

Mary Margaret nodded again. “I understand,” she said, slipping off the bed to let Rose lie down. “I’ll stay, though. Just in case you need some company. It can’t be nice to be stuck in here on your own.”

Rose knew if she said that she wasn’t alone, if she considered Killian as a friend, they would start trying to talk her around again, and that would lead to more stories she didn’t want to hear about murdered parents and stolen children and their own crimes.

Just one of them, she wanted to be innocent, just for a little while longer. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, turning onto her side, away from Mary Margaret. 

The woman smoothed the blankets over her gently, as if she had children she wanted to tuck in for the night, then switched off all the lights except one small bedside one on the other side of the room. “Is it okay if I keep this one on for a while?” she asked.

Rose nodded. “Fine,” she whispered. 

She wondered if it was foolish to ask for it to be left on all night. Even with the light from the corridors, the fear of the dark remained. She remembered waking in her cell, in the dark, the only light breaking in around the edges of the hatch in the door. Sometimes, even the windows wouldn’t let light in at all. 

She shivered, pulling the blankets tight around her.

She had been trying so hard not to think of that place, the place below, where they put the mad people, where they filled them with pills until they sat quiet and docile and didn’t harm anyone at all. 

Her eyes fixed on a line of light across the floor and she stared at it until her head ached, until she had to close her eyes from exhaustion all over again. Her cheeks were wet, but she ignored it and closed her eyes as slowly as she could. 

Nightmares came again.

Not strange images of Killian and the other man. No. Simpler and much more terrifying. She was in the basement, trying to find the way out, and every door she ran through opened into her cell. No matter how quickly she tried to turn, it was closing in on her, locking her in, never letting her escape.

She must have fallen from the bed. Or leapt from it. She didn’t know. She woke, standing on the cold tiles of the floor, turning in panicked circles, sobbing.

“Hey, hey…” Mary Margaret approached her, hands out. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe, Rose. You’re safe.” 

Rose reached out blindly to her, hardly able to see for the tears, and fell into the other woman’s arms, trembling. Her legs couldn’t hold her and she sank to her knees, held close by Mary Margaret, who stroked her hair and murmured soothing nonsense to her. 

“Bad dream?” she asked gently.

Rose’s voice seemed to have abandoned her. She could only nod, holding tightly onto Mary Margaret’s arms, to reassure herself that they were there and solid and real, not just some figment of her imagination.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Her legs were cold and aching by the time she found her voice. 

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret assured her, drawing back to look her in the eyes. “My daughter is away just now, so I don’t mind looking after you instead.” She used the sleeve of her sweater to gently dry Rose’s cheeks. “How about we get you off the floor?”

With some effort, they got Rose back to the bed, and she sat quietly, wiping her face with a damp cloth as Mary Margaret called down to the kitchens for something warm to drink. It was late. Or early. Early enough for the sky to start changing colour.

Mary Margaret offered her a warm mug of hot milk when it was brought up. “This’ll help,” she said. “It’ll calm you down.”

Rose looked into the cup. “Is it just milk?” she asked uneasily.

“Just milk,” she said. “Here.” She took one of the empty tumblers from the bedside table and poured some of the milk into it, drinking it herself. “See? Harmless.” She offered the mug to Rose again.

Rose wrapped her fingers around the warm surface. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Mary Margaret sat down beside her on the bed, lifting some of the blankets to tuck them around her and keep her warm. “I know everything must seem very strange to you,” she said, “but we don’t mean you any harm. Not any of us.”

Rose’s hands were trembling around the mug, but she tried to ignore it. “I want to believe that,” she said. She wished her voice could sound stronger, but it was thin and weak. “Y-you’ve all been very kind, but I keep hearing more about people. Bad things.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Not all of us have had easy lives,” she said. “I was forced to steal to survive when I was young.” She put her arm gently around Rose’s shoulders. “But the past is done with. We’re all trying to just live our lives here. No more badness.”

Rose looked at her. “But you agree with all of them,” she said. “That I shouldn’t go near Killian?”

Mary Margaret looked down for a moment, as if thinking over a problem. “I don’t trust him,” she said finally, raising her eyes to Rose’s. “I don’t like him either. I’ve seen him betray people I care about before. I know he’s dangerous and vengeful, and I wouldn’t recommend you go near him, but if you want to, if you see something in him that we don’t, I won’t be the one to stop you.” She squeezed Rose’s shoulder. “It’s your choice.”

Rose turned the mug in her hands. “It is,” she said quietly. “I don’t have much I can choose, but I chose that.” She looked up at Mary Margaret. “I’m not stupid. I’m not naïve. I know he was the one who shot me. I know he hurt people.”

“So why go to him?” Mary Margaret asked. For the first time, the question didn’t feel like an accusation. It felt like genuine curiosity.

Rose sipped the milk and considered it. “He was honest with me,” she said. “From the start, he told me what he did. He told me why.” She shrugged slightly. “Everyone else felt like they were keeping secrets from me, about that man, that Mr Gold, about themselves, even about the town.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy,” Mary Margaret murmured.

“I know,” Rose replied. “But I… he can’t do anything worse to me than has already been done.”

She could feel Mary Margaret’s eyes on her. “Rose,” she said, her voice uneasy, “where did you live before we found you?”

Rose shrank back from her, holding the cup tighter between her hands to keep from dropping it. If Mary Margaret suspected, if she knew, if she thought that Rose was as broken as the doctors and the nurses did, she might put her back. Somewhere safe, where the people with no memories or families or sanity stayed. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. 

Mary Margaret reached out, as if she wanted to hug her or touch her, but Rose flinched hard enough to spill the milk on her hands and her nightgown. She set the mug down, holding her hands close to her chest. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“Don’t worry,” Mary Margaret said quickly, backing up. She hurried over to the basin and fetched a damp towel. “Here.” She quickly wiped Rose’s hands clean and dry. “Don’t worry about it. It was just a little spill.”

“Just a spill,” Rose echoed. Her eyes felt wet and hot again and her breathing was coming quicker than she would have liked. She remembered spills below. If she spilled, the food was taken, if the food was taken, there was no more until the next day, if there was no more, then she was hungry, and it hurt.

Mary Margaret was watching her, watching her like she was doing something wrong, and that made her feel sick with fear. She forced her legs down, her hands down, and tried to smile like a normal person would. 

“I’m all right,” she lied. She wondered if she should feel guilty about lying, but they were hiding things from her, so hiding her prison from them was hardly a crime.

Mary Margaret brushed at her nightgown. “How about I get you some proper clothes?” she suggested. “Something more real-person, less hospital patient? I think I‘ll be able to pick up some things to fit you.”

Rose looked down at the nightdress. It was like all the clothes she had been wearing for years: loose, shapeless, one-size-fits-all, plain, ugly. She tugged at the skirt. “That would be good,” she said, wondering what it felt like wearing regular clothes.

Mary Margaret’s expression brightened. “I’ll go and fetch something,” she said. “And maybe we can have breakfast in the cafeteria? It’s not great, but it’s more interesting than looking at four walls every day.”

Rose’s smile was wry, tense. “You might be right,” she said.

“You’ll be okay until I get back?”

Rose nodded, waiting until Mary Margaret would be at least a corridor away, before slipping out of the room, and hurrying in the direction of Killian’s room. Her heart was still pounding too fast, and she needed him to say something stupid, something joking, something to remind her to laugh and be calm. She had forgotten what it was to laugh until he reminded her.

The hospital was only just waking, and nurses coming in for their shifts hardly gave her a second look, until she reached the room and opened the door.

The bed was empty and stripped. 

The bed was empty.

Killian was gone. 

Rose whimpered, backing out of the room, her hands shaking. “Wh-where is he?” she asked no one in particular. Her voice was shaking and she felt it rising in her throat, rising to a scream. “Where is he? Where is he?”

Nurses tried to calm her and soothe her, but she didn’t, couldn’t be calm. He was gone. Was he dead? Was he taken? What had happened?

She backed away, running, away from them, until there was nowhere left to run, until they surrounded her with platitudes and meaningless comfort and lies and reassurance, until she was sunk into a corner, her hands over her head and sobbing.

“Clear out of here!” A man spoke. “Out!”

Footsteps pattered away in all directions, until there was only one left.

The fair-haired doctor, Doctor Whale.

He went down on one knee in front of her, but stayed at arm’s length. “Rose, isn’t it?” She nodded, pressing back into the corner. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Gone,” she whispered. “Killian’s gone.”

Whale nodded. “He was healed up enough to be taken into custody,” he replied. “They had been waiting for his ribs to heal up enough to move him. David Nolan took him down to the station to keep him under guard last night.”

Rose stared at him. “The station?”

“The Sheriff’s station,” Whale said patiently. “They have cells there.”

Rose wanted to curl up tighter into the corner, away from him, away from everything about this place, but she couldn’t. If she curled up tight and made herself small, it would be reason enough for them to close her away again, the mad girl, not even able to act like a real person.

She forced herself to lift her head and look at him. “Take me there,” she said, her voice trembling.

“To the Sheriff’s station?” She nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. “You’re sure you want to go.”

“Have to.” It wasn’t a lie or exaggeration. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She needed someone she felt safe with to feel safe with again. She looked at him imploringly. “Please.”

Whale hesitated, then nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

She could barely face lifting her head as they emerged into daylight. He had offered her his coat over her hospital robes, and she pulled it tight around her. It felt huge, too big, too wide, and so frightening, but she needed to breathe. She needed someone to be strong for her, just for a moment.

Doctor Whale didn’t press her to speak, though he pointed out places they were passing, in case she could remember them. He kept looking at her with concern, and she kept her eyes down, trying to keep from shaking.

“You okay?” he asked, as they pulled up outside a big building. 

Rose nodded. “Please. Where?”

It wasn’t unlike the hospital. Corridors. Doors. Windows. 

David Nolan rose when they entered the room, but Rose hardly noticed him at all.

In a cage on the other side of the room, lying on a bunk, was Killian. 

The relief welled up in her chest. She rushed across the room, as he sat up, as stunned look on his face, and she reached out, seeking that moment of steadiness that he could give her, the grip of his hand.

He caught her hand with his, though the bars, drawing her as close as he could, his eyes searching her face, and she knew he saw how she shook. “Morning, love,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern. “You’re early.”

She couldn’t speak. All she could do was lift his hand to press the back of his palm to her cheek, and let the hot tears fall.


	6. Not All Treasure

Killian had spent the night in a cell. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last, though this one at least was clean and didn't reek of piss and vomit. They'd hauled him down there only an hour after Rose had been hustled away, no doubt to keep her safe from his dubious company.

He wasn't sure if they were aware how far up their arses their heads were. 

It was one thing to lock up a dangerous and potentially violent pirate - that he didn't mind - but it was another thing entirely to take away the one person that a mentally unstable amnesiac considered as a friend.

Not, he told himself, that he gave a damn about the lass.

It was true that she shared her food with him, teased him, and had earned a rare, genuine smile from him, and those things were as rare as hen's teeth. That didn't mean he considered her as anything more than a weapon against the crocodile. 

The Prince - little Snow's husband - stayed there all night, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, arms folded over his chest, watching him. 

Killian always liked a man who tried to play the Alpha male. They were the most fun to rile up by poking at all their sensitive spots: the size of their weapons, their masculinity, their would-be dominance, their women. Quite literally in some cases. 

Such easy targets.

Of course, it occasionally led to a sound thrashing, but if you came out of the thrashing still smiling, they walked away with their tails between their legs. After all, how could you consider yourself a man if you couldn't beat the smile off another man's face? 

Killian smiled at him lazily through the bars. 

The other man was sitting grimly in the Sheriff's office, glaring at him through the glass, out of earshot, but not out of sight.

Killian was amused that the boy was so easy to provoke. He had only made a few choice comments the night before - about the Prince's daughter being all over him, about the family love of bondage, about the fact he couldn't even keep his child in town because of some shrivelled old imp with a limp - and had chuckled as the Prince stalked back and forth across the floor, looking for something to hit. 

He lay back on the bed, hand behind his head, and studied the ceiling.

Perhaps making new enemies wasn't a wise plan, but wholesome people always made him itch. The honest ones were the worst, all puritanical and holier-than-thou. It was much more fun to see them lose their temper, and then all honour and piety went out the window. 

Nothing quite like seeing a person who claimed to be so good punching the face of a man in chains. It warmed the heart to know that no matter how much anyone protested, everyone had a little bit of bad in them. 

A scuffle on the far side of the station made him look up, and despite the protest of his ribs, he sat up at once. Rose was there, out of the hospital and in the station. She was white as a sheet, and her eyes were swollen and red, and before he could think, he was standing by the bars.

She reached through the bars and caught his hand. Only one person had ever grabbed his hand like that, like he was a lifeline, and that was during a storm that had almost torn the ship apart, when he had almost lost her for the first time. That time, he had been able to catch her, to save her. 

"Morning, love," he managed to say, his voice tangled up in his throat. "You're early."

Rose clung to his hand, as if he was her anchor, and pressed her cheek to the back of it, hot and wet with tears. He stared at her and she closed her eyes hard against fresh tears.

She was scared.

She was scared to the point of speechlessness. 

And she had come to him for comfort. Of all the people in the wholesome little town, she had come to him. 

Gods below, it was all a bloody mess. 

He looked over her head at the Prince, who had his hand at his gun. "Open the door," he said abruptly.

"The hell I will!"

Killian bared his teeth. "This isn't a pissing match, friend," he said. "She wants my company. I'm not about to refuse a lady that. Put your damned gun to my head if it'll make you feel better about having a small cock, but let the lady in."

“Please,” Rose whispered.

It was the please that caught the imbecile’s attention. He approached the bars, his expression twisting into what he must have assumed was menace as he unlocked the door. It was like being glared at by a drunk sheep. 

“You do anything to harm her,” he said, “and you’ll be back in the hospital.”

“Which would be much more convenient for visiting hours if you don’t mind me saying so,” Killian replied with a mocking smile. “Now, if you don’t mind?” He waved his stump elegantly at the lock. “We have a private conversation to be having.”

The Prince grudgingly unlocked the door, and in a heartbeat Rose was inside the cell and all but fell against Killian, burying her face in his shoulder. Killian’s breath caught as his ribs screamed, but he didn’t make a sound. No need to let the man know he was still in a hell of a lot of pain.

“Easy, love, easy,” he murmured, awkwardly putting his arms around her shoulders. 

He had comforted people before, once or twice, but this time it wasn’t quite as simple as a slap on the back and a reassuring word that they could hunt down the perpetrator and shoot them in both feet before feeding them to the sharks.

He could feel the Prince’s eyes on him, suspicious and wary, but that was of no consequence as he cautiously placed his hand at the back of Rose’s head. He could snap her neck, easily, before they could reach him, but instead, his fingers smoothed her hair.

Another life ruined because of the crocodile.

Admittedly, he’d had a part in it, what with knocking her over the town line, but he hadn’t made her love the beast. He hadn’t imprisoned her and left her a shattered shell of a woman for decades. At least he had only wanted to kill her, clean and simple. He hadn’t made her into this, not intentionally.

“What do you want with her?” The Prince, again, incapable of knowing when to keep his mouth shut. 

Killian didn’t even bother to grace him with a look. 

It seemed to him that people went around half-blind in the world, ignoring the little tells and signs that any man could see if they bothered to pay attention. Right now, Rose was on the verge of falling to pieces in front of him, and the Prince could only see a pirate taking advantage of a sick woman.

“Ignore him, love,” he murmured to Rose. “He’s not here.” He grimaced as her fingers bit harder into his back, but he did his best not to flinch. His voice was quiet, for her ears only, steady and calm and he could feel her shivers subsiding. “You’re fine, love. You made it, and you’re safe.” He raised his head and added in a louder voice, “And I didn’t miss you at all, you pushy little tart.”

That earned a weak, watery giggle.

“Hook…”

Killian sighed and looked impatiently at the Prince. “What? You’re going to tell me off for being insolent?” He smirked as the Prince glowered at him. “I’m a pirate. Haven’t you read the job description recently?”

The Prince stalked back to talk to the blond doctor in heated tones, and Killian took their distraction to draw back and tilt Rose’s chin up. “You all right?”

She blinked hard, drawing back a hand to rub at her cheeks. “You were gone.”

“Yes,” he said with a dark look in the Prince’s direction. “Well, apparently, they think I look better behind bars.” He looked around. “I don’t know about you, but I’m missing the old homestead. Privacy. Actual walls. Bed linen.”

"Jello?" Her voice was so quiet it was barely audible.

Killian's lips twitched. "Aye," he said. "Even that abominable stuff." 

"Knew you liked it," she whispered.

"Breathe a word, and I'll gut you," he cautioned, leading her to the bunk and sitting down with her. It was completely for his own benefit, because his legs didn't feel willing or capable of holding him, but he would never have admitted it.

She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, twisting her fingers together. "I-I didn't mean to come so soon," she confessed in a small voice. "Bad dreams. Of that place. Needed to be brave." She was shaking again. "Couldn't."

Killian looked at her, the lass brave enough to leave the only place she knew to come and find him. He put his hand over hers in her lap. "I'll tell you a secret, love," he said, leaning closer to her, his voice shrunk to a whisper. "It doesn't matter if you're scared. What matters is that you don't let anyone see it." He offered her a quick smile. "Do the brave thing, even if it gets your arse kicked black and blue." Her fingers were tangling around his and he looked down them, then back at her face. "If you convince yourself, no one'll think you're bluffing."

Her eyes searched his face. "Are you?" she asked in a whisper.

"Bluffing?"

She shook her head. "Scared?"

One side of his mouth curved up. "What do you think?"

She looked down at their hands. Somehow, her fingers had ended up threaded between his, and her skin was warm and soft. Her eyes rose to his face. "I don't think you're as bad as you pretend you are," she murmured.

"Well, well," he said, studying her. Three and more centuries, and only a handful of people ever bothered to look behind the smirk. "The lady has a brain in her head. Nice to see you can use it once in a while."

She leaned against his arm, her gaze returning to their joined hands. "You tried to kill me," she said quietly, "more than once."

"And yet, here you are."

She nodded, her thumb tracing circles around one of his knuckles. "You feel safer than everyone else," she confessed. She laughed quietly in disbelief. "The man who shot me, and who tried to kill me. Safe."

He lifted her chin with the sturdy leather cuff that covered the stump of his left wrist. "You won over a monster in another lifetime," he said. "Maybe you just have a camaraderie with people on the edge of morality. Our nasty to balance out your nice."

She raised her eyes to his. "Or maybe bad people sometimes need to know there's some good in them as well," she said quietly.

Killian stared at her, then rose abruptly from the bunk, withdrawing his hand from her. He regretted instantly, when pain shot through his ribs, but it was easier than looking sincerity and goodness in the face. Bloody hellfire and damnation.

He circled the cell, keeping an eye on the Prince. "You going to go back to your little white cell?" he asked, bracing his hand against the door.

Rose folded her hands back in her lap. "I don't want to," she said in a small voice, "but I don't know how to be outside."

He studied the lock on the door, then looked out at the Prince. "Hey! You!"

The Prince stalked closer. "What do you want?"

Killian propped his elbow on the crossbar of the door, and cupped his chin in his hand. "Is that any way to talk in front of a lady?" he said, widening his eyes in mock-shock.

"Enough joking around, Hook," the Prince said, drawing himself up to his full height. He was trying his best to be imperious. If it wasn't so annoying, it would have been adorable. "You're not exactly in anyone's good books here. You might want to work on that."

"Haven't seen a reason to try yet," Killian replied dismissively. He jerked his head back towards Rose. "She, on the other hand, seems to be lacking hospitality. Leaving her closed up in hospital, supervised like a lunatic, when she is entirely well? Tut tut. How very primeval of you."

"And you care so much for her well-being."

Killian canted his head. "Then maybe you can explain why she would rather spend time in a cage with me, than with you and your little horde of do-gooders, hmm? When she knows I shot her and hurt her." He shook his head. "Are you all really that bad company?"

Something, at least, hit home.

The Prince's eyes flicked to Rose, where she was sitting on the bunk.

"Do you want to be out of the hospital, Rose?"

Killian didn't need to turn to know she was nodding.

The Prince stared at her for a moment, then looked at Killian. "We'll arrange something at Granny's," he said. "At least she'll be protected there."

Killian snorted. "It's not me you need to tell," he said, stepping back from the bars and indicating the woman on the bunk. "You see this creature here? This little lamb? She's the one you've been overlooking. Can't see the damsel for the over-inflated sense of nobility."

"Killian," Rose said quietly.

He turned to her with a half-smile. "Bask in it, love," he said. "I'm not one for being magnanimous. Consider it a terrible momentary lapse in character."

He saw the small tilt of her lips, the tiny nod, and she got to her feet unsteadily. "Well," she said, approaching him. She leaned closer and kissed him lightly on the cheek and he was too surprised to back off or press forward. "Thank you."

Killian remembered himself enough to snort, waving her away. "Momentary," he reminded her. She gazed at him, steadily, and he pushed open the door. "Run along, love. Go out into the world. Eat all the awful food you like and die of heart failure and obesity by the time you're thirty."

She hid a smile. "Such a gentleman," she said, as she emerged from the cage, and closed the door behind her. 

He swept in an extravagant bow. "I try."

She had her back to the Prince, and Killian saw her mouth, "Bluffing."

He couldn't help smirking back at her.


	7. Thorns About Them

Rose had a room.

She had a room and a bed and a television and privacy. There were no more glass walls. No more nurses in their white dresses. No more quiet whirrs and beeps from machines that seemed sinister when you didn't know what they were for.

The place was called Granny's Inn. It was a big house with several rooms for people to stay in, and it was away from staring eyes and curious people. It wasn't an institution with padded walls. It didn't reek of chemicals and sterile cleanliness. 

Rose liked it at once. 

There was a lock on the door, a lock on her side that could keep out people who were not welcome. She held the key in her hand like a talisman, looking around the four walls. They had colour. There were paintings. It felt like a place to stay instead of a prison.

"It's not much," Ruby said.

"It's better," Rose said softly, approaching the bed and touching the woollen blanket laid over the quilt. There were colours here. Bright, warm, soft colours. Nothing like the whites and greys of the hospital. She laid the key down on the bed carefully. Her key on her bed in her room. 

Ruby drew her over to a pile of bags stacked on the windowseat. "I went to your place," she said. "Got some of your clothes." She offered a careful smile. "I thought you might like to wear something apart from hospital gowns."

"I have a place?" Rose looked at her in surprise. "My own place?"

Ruby nodded. "It's not much," she said, "but it's probably safer for you to be here than there just now. So you don't have to worry about food or strangers trying to hurt you."

Rose looked at her, then down at the bag. So it was just another kind of supervision. It wasn't the hospital, that was true, but they were still keeping an eye on her. "Would I be able to go to my place?" she asked, drawing one of the dresses out of the bag and running her fingers over it. "I mean, I don't have to stay in here all the time?"

"You can go there whenever you want!" Ruby assured her. "It's just..." She sighed, and sat down at the edge of the windowseat. "I know it's difficult to trust us, especially when you don't know who we are. But we're trying to keep you safe from people who would hurt you."

Rose unfolded the dress and held it against her body, looking at herself in the full-length mirror. She felt like a stranger was looking at her. The dress was pretty and floral and light and nothing she would ever wear. 

"Why would people come after me?" she asked quietly. "Was I such a terrible person?"

"No!" Ruby exclaimed. "No, you were the sweetest, kindest person imaginable."

Rose set down the dress and took another from the bag. "Killian shot me to get to Mr Gold. Mr Gold is a bad man." She looked up at Ruby. "Isn't he? That's why other people might come after me? Because of him?"

Ruby nodded unhappily. "He loves you."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Rose murmured. She put the dress down and retreated to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Ruby was picking at her fingernails, her brow furrowed with worry. "Rose, what can I do to help?"

Rose looked at her silently for a long while. "I-I didn't want to ask, because it sounds crazy," she said quietly, "but when that man, that Mr Gold, found me, he did something. Something to make his hand glow. He... healed me, I think."

Ruby looked guarded. "What are you saying?" she asked quietly.

Rose's hands were shaking. If she said it out loud, they might well take her back to the hospital, lock her away all over again. She didn't want the drugs. She didn't want her mind to be shut up like that room. If she was brave, she knew she would ask, but she wasn't brave. She was scared and her stomach felt like it was twisting up in knots. 

"I don't know," she whispered, her fingers twisted so tightly together that her bones looked like they might tear through the skin.

Ruby crossed the floor, crouching down in front of her. "Everything has an explanation," she assured her. "Don't worry."

Rose looked at her warily, then smiled as much as she could. "I think I need to rest," she said. "It's been an exciting few days." She hesitated. "Is that okay?"

"Of course," Ruby reassured her, rising. "I'll have Granny wake you in a couple of hours for dinner, okay?"

Rose nodded, drawing her feet up onto the bed. Ruby was halfway to the door when she remembered to ask, "What's going to happen to Killian?"

Ruby hesitated at the doorframe. "They're going to keep him where he is for now," she said. "He's got information they need about the people who would cause problems. I don't think they want him running off."

Rose nodded, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I can go and see him?"

There was no mistaking the look of worry that crossed Ruby's face, but she still nodded. "If you want to, you can," she said. "I don't think it's a good idea, but it's your choice."

Rose breathed out, relieved. For a little while, she had almost believed they meant to hide him away, keep him out of her reach again. Maybe he would be able to tell her about the glow. He wouldn't think she was crazy, she knew that much. She was out of the hospital, so maybe it was safe to ask now.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Ruby smiled tentatively, then slipped out of the room, closing the door.

Rose waited until her footsteps faded, before scrambling from the bed and hurrying to the door, locking it securely behind her. 

Her hands shook and she turned with her back to the door, sinking down to sit against it. For the first time that she could remember, she could keep people out and away from her. It was terrifying and amazing all at once.

She didn't rest.

She was too nervous for that. It was a good nervousness, for the most part, as she gathered herself, got to her feet, and started to explore the room. Even the texture of the wallpaper, the softness of the rugs on the floor, were new, different, exciting.

She wondered if it was pathetic how happy it made her to slip off her hospital crocs and walk barefoot across the wooden floor and rugs, just to feel the different textures beneath her soles. It felt like a lifetime since she'd been able to do something so simple.

That same happiness only grew when she filled a bathtub with water that was steaming and hot, and bubbles and foam. She soaked and scrubbed herself with jasmine-scented soap, until the reek of the hospital was almost completely gone. 

For a little while, she could almost pretend it had been a bad dream, all those days, weeks, months, years in those same four walls. 

Her fingers were pruney and soft when she finally emerged, and she picked through the bags of clothing that Ruby had brought her. Almost all the clothes were the same style: skirts and frills and dresses. Had she really worn things like that? She couldn't believe she would. It didn't look practical or warm, and she remembered too many days of being cold to want to wear anything like that again. 

There was one dark blue dress that was a little longer, a little thicker, so she pulled it on with a pair of woollen tights. A long-sleeved grey sweater caught her eye. It was soft, smooth, against her fingers. Expensive, her mind told her. Very expensive. She brushed it to her cheek, and caught a faint scent of... something? Perhaps perfume? No. It was more masculine. Cologne, perhaps. It was a nice smell. Safe.

She added the sweater on top of the dress, then set to work taming her tangled hair with a brush and the hairdryer. It had been so long since she had used one that her head was a mass of frizz by the time she was done, but she was warm and dry and clean and felt more human than she had for a long time.

Rose looked at herself in the mirror of the dresser. 

She looked like a rag doll, dressed in mismatched clothes with messy wool for hair, but she was free to come and go and lock the door and dress herself. They weren't keeping her from Killian. They weren't stopping her from doing anything. Maybe they were being secretive, but she knew the value of keeping quiet and secret to be safe.

She was roused from her reverie when the crystals hanging from the dresser lamp rattled.

Rose turned to look at them, puzzled.

They rattled again, as if something was shaking the ground.

And again and again. 

An earthquake? Several?

Rose's hands started shaking, and she ran to the window, looking out over the town, trying to see what she was meant to do, what other people were doing. 

Her heart felt like it jumped to her mouth.

There was a...a giant. A giant man. 

Rose recoiled from the window, shying back into the room and covering her eyes. 

Impossible. 

It was impossible.

Magic was impossible.

Giants were impossible. 

It was all just impossible.

She backed into the corner, shrinking down, wrapping her arms over her head. If she was seeing things, maybe she was crazy after all. Maybe they weren't wrong to keep her in the hospital. Maybe having a room and warm and safe wasn't what was right for her.

She was still there, she didn't know how long later, pressed as tight into the corner as she could be when someone knocked at the door. Rose flinched, trembling.

"Rose?" It was Ruby's voice. She sounded calm, like there wasn't a giant man in the street. "Are you awake?"

Rose tried to gather her scattered courage. It was difficult. The bits were so small that they were hard to find. "Y-yes," she called back, getting to her feet, her legs shaking beneath her. "Just a minute."

She stumbled to the bathroom and washed her face, pinching her cheeks to put some colour back in them. Her hair was still a mess, so she tugged it back into a braid as quickly as her trembling hands would allow. It took her a moment of fumbling with the key to unlock the door, opening it a crack.

Ruby offered her a warm smile. "Do you want to come down for something to eat?" she said. "You've been up here for hours."

Rose's hand pressed to her aching belly. She was too used to going hungry to even think of asking to eat. The idea of eating by choice felt like a luxury. "I am a little hungry," she admitted nervously.

Ruby's face lit up. "You can come down to the diner," she said. "I can introduce you to people, and Granny'll make you up anything you like."

Rose felt like her breath had caught in her chest. "Will there be lots of people?"

"Only a few," Ruby assured her. "No one to be afraid of." She smiled hopefully. "If you don't feel comfortable, we can get food to go, and bring it back here."

Hiding in a room, even a warm, soft, bright one, was as bad as hiding in a hospital.

"I'll go with you," she agreed, then hesitated, "Are there any shoes that aren't tall?"

Ruby bit her lip. "I don't think so," she said. "You always wore them." She held up her hand. "Just wait here a second. I'll see if I can find anything in my room that'll fit you."

In the end, she just wore the hospital crocs again. They were clumpy and ugly, but they were easier to wear than the tall heels. She put on a woollen coat over the top, against the chill, even though none of the outfit matched. 

Ruby led her back out of the inn, her arm through Belle's. "I like your sweater," she said. 

"It feels nice," Rose said quietly. She didn't want to mention that it smelled nice as well. That would sound odd. "Soft." 

Her hands were tucked inside her pockets, and she forced herself to look around to see if there was any sign of a giant. She couldn't see it anywhere. She didn't know what scared her more: the possibility that it was real or that she was imagining such things.

The door of the diner was partway open, and the smell of food made her stomach hurt with hunger.

She stopped short in the doorway.

There was a man there, a man who looked just like the giant. He was sitting at the counter, drinking beer, and talking to one of the other man. He looked just like the giant. He was wearing the same clothes. He looked the same.

Rose felt like her grip on reality was slipping.

"Who's that?" she asked in a small voice.

Ruby looked over, following her gaze. "That's Anton," she said. "He just arrived today." She looked back at Rose, a sudden, hopeful look in her eyes. "Do you know him?"

Rose shook her head mutely, unable to tear her eyes away from the man. 

He was the giant she had seen, she was sure of it. His clothing was so strange that no two men would wear it. Unless she had seen him in passing in the street, out of the corner of her eye, and her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. 

Ruby tugged on her arm gently. "You okay?"

Rose forced herself to look at the other woman. "I-I think so," she said. "Just a lot. A lot to take in."

Ruby gave her a sympathetic smile. "C'mon," she said, leading her to a quiet booth. "We'll stay out of the way."

She must have eaten. She didn't remember the process of it, but there was an empty plate and she was full, and she was still watching the men at the bar. The giant and the other one. They were talking like old friends. Not like one of them had been huge and stomping all over town. They got up together, and headed out of the diner, still laughing.

Rose felt like her mind was whirling.

"I need to go for some air," she said quietly.

"Do you want me to..."

Rose shook her head tightly. "I'm fine," she said.

She was lying. 

She was lying and she was insane. She was imagining strange and terrible and frightening things like monsters and magic and giants. She pushed her way out of the diner, trying to keep from crying. If they knew, they would take her back. They would lock her up, and she would never breathe air again.

It was cold outside, and she had left her coat, but Ruby thought she was just going for air. Air didn't need a coat.

Rose kicked her feet out of the crocs and left them where they fell, running, running, as fast as she could. She couldn't stay there a minute longer, not with the fear that any moment they would see they had released her too soon, and that she should be locked away and the key taken from her. 

Her feet were torn and bleeding as she stumbled up the steps into the Sheriff's station, and she heard the man, the Sheriff, David, call her name, but she didn't care, didn't heed him, running to the cell, to the bars, to Killian.

He rose, startled. 

"Help me,” she whispered. “Please.”


	8. Old Habits

Not for the first time, Killian had the crocodile's girl in his arms.

She was crying, shaking, and white as a sheet.

The Sheriff Prince, the noble Miss Swan's father, had wit enough to open the cell and let her in, though he looked as lost as Killian felt, even if Killian did his damnedest not to show it. It was a rare breed of man who knew what to do with a weeping woman who was too incoherent to speak.

She was lucky that he was about, after his little adventure to the ship that morning, and the flight of the would-be giant. Killian had so very nearly escaped their custody, but the fair Snow had caught him in the back with a well-flung pulley, the impact and the pain knocking him to his knees.

"Easy, love, easy," he murmured, letting Rose hold onto him even though his ribs were aching. "What's the matter?"

She looked over her shoulder at the clatter of heels. A dark-haired girl rushed through the doorway, alarm written all over her face. Rose shrank closer to Killian, hiding her face in his shoulder, and holding that little bit tighter. He grit his teeth as his aching ribs shot fire through him.

"Rose!"

The Sheriff held up his hand, keeping his voice low. "Just give her a second, Ruby," he said quietly. "She wants to be in there."

Killian nodded curtly at him in acknowledgement. The man was being observant for once. He hesitated, then cradled the back of Rose's head in his hand. "Now, love," he murmured, his voice too low for their spectators to hear. "What seems to be the trouble?"

She looked up at him, and for the first time in their encounters - whether as Belle or as Rose - she looked terrified. Even with a gun to her face, she had never looked as scared as she did now.

"I think I'm going crazy," she whispered. "If they know, they'll put me back there, in the cell. They'll lock me up again, put the medicine in me."

He rubbed the point where her skull met her neck gently, soothingly. Her neck was so small. It would have been easy, once, to just turn his hand, to break her. Not now, though. "What makes you think you're going crazy?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet and soothing. 

One hand was tugging at his shirt, tight, spasmodic movements. "Seeing things." Her voice was clipped, sharp, fearful. "I saw a giant. Magic. Fireballs." She shook her head. "They aren't real, but I saw them. I saw them and they'll lock me up, away, all over."

Killian stared at her. "Magic."

She looked up at him fearfully. "I know it sounds crazy," she whispered, clasping at his shirt like it was her anchor on sanity. "I know it does." She shook her head. "Don't let them lock me up again! Don't..." Her voice was rising in pitch and he cupped her cheek, leaning down to meet her eyes. 

"You're not crazy," he said with enough certainty to calm her. He rose from the bed and stalked to the bars of the cell. He looked out at the goodie-two-shoes standing at the other side of the room with contempt. "Though I do find it interesting that your so-called good friends have neglected to mention that magic is real."

"What?" He heard Rose whisper, confusion, doubt, wariness in her voice.

"Magic," he said, fixing his eyes on the Sheriff. "It's real. It's not meant to be, not in this charming little world, but it's real and it's powerful, and I can't for the life of me imagine why they wouldn't have told you."

Rose was by his side in a moment, staring out of the cell. "Is... is that true?" she asked.

The Sheriff and the woman exchanged looks, then the woman moved towards the cell, holding up her hands to placate her. "We thought it would scare you," she said. "We didn't know if you would be able to understand."

Rose was trembling at Killian's side, but she pushed the door open. "I told you I thought I saw it," she said, her voice tight and angry. "I told you and you looked at me like I was crazy! You made me think I was crazy!"

"Rose, it was..."

Rose's hands clenched into shaking fists by her side. "No! I don't want to hear your excuses! You lied to me! Again! What else are you lying to me about?"

The woman flinched.

Killian put his hand through the bars, squeezing Rose's shoulder. She was quivering. Righteous indignation could do that to a woman. "Ask them anything you want now, love. I'll tell you if they're lying or not."

"And she'll trust you?" The Sheriff looked indignant. "A pirate who only arrived in town..."

"Yes." Rose's voice had lost its soft edge. She wasn't scared now. The fear was overlaid with anger, pure and simple. The little tigress who had growled at him in her cell and her library and his ship was standing there. "I'll trust the one person who hasn't lied to me or let me think I was crazy."

"He shot you!" The other women looked fraught.

"I did," Killian agreed, leaning on the bars and smiling darkly at them. Hate him they might, but he was never anything but an honest man with the girl, and they could not argue that point. "Never denied it."

Rose's hands were flexing by her sides. "Tell me about the giant," she said in a low voice. "I saw him from the window, and then in the diner, he was small. He's real, isn't he?"

The other woman nodded. "Anton. He was made big by magic, but it wore off and now, he's normal-sized."

Rose's chest was heaving with ragged, anxious breaths. It was one thing, Killian realised, to think you were insane. It was another thing entirely to believe that magic was real. "And when that man, that Mr Gold, healed me? That was magic?"

The Sheriff approached, one step, then another, until Rose slammed back against the bars of Killian's cell, wary. "He wanted to help you," he said. "He wanted to keep you from hurting."

"He made a fireball," Rose said, shaking her head. "A fireball to hurt someone else."

"To hurt me," Killian put in helpfully, the devil at her shoulder. He watched the pair, who were looking at each other, unsure how to proceed. "You know all about our little enmity, after all."

Rose nodded, pacing in small, compact circles outside the bars. She turned on the others. "Am I actually free?" she demanded fiercely. "Am I free? Or is that room just some new prison? Can I come and go where I want?"

The other woman looked on the verge of tears. Killian couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Now, they could see how it felt to be vilified for their ill-behaviour. He leaned against the bars, watching them with amusement. 

"You're free to go anywhere you choose," the Sheriff said. He looked as agitated as the woman, though whether it was because of Rose's knowledge of magic or just her anger, Killian wasn't quite sure. A fair measure of both, he would wager. "We just wanted to keep you safe, because there are dangerous people around."

"Every one of you, from the sounds of it," Rose said unhappily. She folded down onto the small blue couch beside the bars. "Do I have a home? Do I have anywhere I can go?" She looked up, tears on her face. "Do I have any real friends?"

"Rose..." The woman started to speak, her voice breaking.

Rose shook her head, shying back.

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the soft, unhappy sobs of a woman who didn't know who she was.

The door of the cell was open. Killian knew he could go out and neither of the stooges would say a word, but his feet felt like they were nailed to the spot. 

He knew that isolation all too well, even in a world where he had once been considered the Captain. One by one, his self-proclaiming loyal crew drifted away. He wasn’t surprised when they did. Only one person wanted to stay and she was taken. The rest all left. One by one, they abandoned him. So much for loyalty.

Finally, he pushed the cell door open, stepping out and crouched down in front of her. He wasn’t built to be reassuring or comforting or anything of the kind. People were made to be played. Why bother with them when they were broken? Why indeed?

Why had she touched his hand when he was in pain?

He didn’t know, and that was exactly the reason he would give if anyone asked why he covered her tightly-knotted hands with his own.

That was the difference.

Every time before, she had come to him.

She had approached him in the hospital. She had found him in his cell.

This time, he came to her. 

He made the choice.

Gods, he was getting soft.

It wasn’t even as if he would have taken her, had she been smiling and willing. She was a beauty, that was without question, and ravishing her would have made the crocodile burn, but she looked at him like he was worth a moment of her concern and with such trust that he knocked the breath from him. 

She had no reason to care, no reason to think well of him, and he knew she was no fool, so it wasn’t because she was an idiot. She knew exactly what he was capable of, and yet, she believed he could be better than that.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said in a small, tired voice. She raised her eyes from their hands to his face. “You don’t lie to me. Tell me why everything is so strange here.”

He nodded. “These two will have to help,” he admitted. “Like they said, I’m new in town, but I know the general bits, if not the specifics.”

For the most part, from what he knew, they were being honest and he told Rose so. There was some lying by omission, but since he didn’t know what they were omitting, he felt he could hardly argue a case when he didn’t know what he was arguing for or against. Sometimes, you had to pick your battles.

Rose didn’t look at them. 

Her eyes remained fixed on their linked hands, and he could feel her trembling. Her whole world was being turned on its head. No wonder she was shaken, really. Magic real. Good guys lying. Bad guys being honest. What paradigm wasn’t being shifted?

Killian tried to remember the best ways to calm someone. 

It was a skill long forgotten, but he recalled the day he left port with more than just provisions in the hold. Milah. She was leaving behind more than just her fool of a husband, and even though he’d offered the boy a place, she shook her head, said no, said he’d be better off with his father. Rumpelstiltskin, she said, loved his son more than anything, and she said it with such certainty that he believed her. The boy’s fate would have broken her heart.

He remembered that day clearly, her hand clasping his, and he remembered soothing her.

Killing stroked his thumb in decreasing circles on the back of Rose’s hand. She watched the motion. She listened. She turned her hand in his and was breathing calm and quietly as they came to the end of their tale.

She seemed comforted to know that no, she wasn’t insane, no, her time in the asylum wasn’t because she was imagining magic. There was something reassuring in the knowledge that she had been locked up by an evil enchantress, even if the knowledge opened a new and frightening world to her.

Belle might be gone, but he could see something of her shadow rising in Rose’s eyes.

She wasn’t a meek little lamb, this one. She’s refused to be cowed by their lies. She’d rebelled against them. She had gone where she pleased and spoke to whomever she wanted to. All those things were not the things a frightened little mental patient would do.

Beneath Killian’s hand, she curled her fingers to wrap them around his, and finally, she raised her eyes to his face. “Would you try and kill me? Because of what he did?”

Killian stared back at her.

How could she know that he could have done it a dozen times already? He had killed in many creative ways, some bloody, some silent, all terminal. She had given him ample opportunity, even in the hospital and disarmed. A man who wanted to kill would have had her dead already.

“I don’t know, love,” he said. “He’s not here. If he comes back…”

“When,” the Sheriff said quietly. “He’ll be back. He wouldn’t leave you permanently.”

Rose chewed her lower lip. “What happens,” she asked quietly, “when he comes back?”

Killian rocked back on his heels. “I still want him dead.”

“Will that make things better?” she asked.

“It’ll make things even,” he replied. It was the flame that had sustained him for this long, the knowledge that one day, somehow, he would bury his hook into the crocodile’s flesh, and this time, it would work, and he would bleed, and he would die.

“Why?” she persisted quietly. “Because they’ll both be dead? Her and him? What will you do after that?”

Killian avoided her gaze. They still had their audience and he wasn’t about to put on a show, not for them, not for their benefit. They didn’t see beyond the violent pirate. Let them keep that in mind. He wasn’t about to shed a tear. He’d run short of those before he could walk, and even when she was gone, he had been wrung dry, too dry to even weep for her.

What did it matter what happened to him?

All that mattered was that the one who had killed Milah was dead in turn.

Fingertips brushed his cheek and Killian looked up, wary.

Rose was looking at him, her brow creased in concern. 

Killian rose, shying back from her hand. “Because then, it’ll be done,” he said.

It was the coward’s way out, to retreat back into the cell, but now, it felt better to have the bars between them. Rose was still looking at him, but he threw himself down on the bunk, and scowled into nothing.

“Run along, little girl,” he snapped. “Playtime is over.”

She got up, and didn’t say anything more to him. She just walked away.


	9. Grasp the Thorn

Rose slept badly her first night out of the hospital. 

The smell, the taste in the air, the softness of the bed, the woollen covers, all of it was too unfamiliar. She woken by the roar of an engine in the street outside, sitting up in the blankets, shaking. There was moonlight on the floor, and the shifting of the trees outside the window cast strange shadows.

She slid from the bed, dragging the blanket with her. She wrapped it around her shoulders against the chill of the evening, and padded quietly across the floor to the window. There was a deep windowledge, padded with a long, narrow floral cushion. Rose sat down on it, lifting her feet up onto the cushion, folding the blanket around her and curling her toes into it. 

For all that she hated the prison that the hospital had become, there was something comforting about the sameness of all of it.

In the end, she dragged some pillows into the darkest corner of the room, wrapped herself in the blanket - even her head - and finally got to sleep. She woke up at the sound of footsteps in the hall a couple of hours later, and sat up, stiff and tired and unhappy.

She wanted to go and see Killian.

If not a friendly face, then at least he would be someone who knew what it was to be somewhere he didn't belong.

Rose retreated to the bathroom, filling the tub again with hot, steaming water. It felt like a luxury to have a bath, let alone two in two days. She heard the distant tap at the door of her room and ignored it, sinking down in the water until only her face was above the surface. She didn't want to talk to anyone who would come knocking. Alone and quiet was good, no faces peering in, no one intruding on her unasked. 

Here, she had the choice about when she opened and closed the door.

When the water started cooling, she got out and dressed, but it wasn't until her stomach started aching with hunger that she unlocked the door and made her way out into the inn. There was a kitchen, she knew, and she had waited long enough so that there would be no one else around.

Her sock-clad feet made no sound on the wooden floor, and she crept into the kitchen.

It had been a long time since she had cooked for herself, but she could remember the basics. As quietly as she could, she filled a pan with water and put it on to boil. Eggs were simple, and she watched - half-daydreaming - as the eggs rolled around in the bubbling water.

She didn't even notice she was not alone until Ruby spoke.

"Rose?"

Rose spun around with a small, startled cry.

Ruby backed away, hands raised, palms open. "Sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Rose pressed back against the edge of the counter, trying to feign a calm she wasn't feeling. "I didn't want to be in the way," she said, twisting a spoon between her hands. She glanced towards the door. "You seemed busy."

"Morning shift in the diner," Ruby explained. "I came up earlier to ask if you wanted breakfast." She took a cautious step towards Rose, as if she was afraid of scaring her. "Do you want tea or coffee or something?"

Rose looked at the pan, which was still boiling. "I can manage," she said.

The silence settled around them, awkward and uncomfortable.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Rose nodded, watching her silently until the other woman hurried back out of the kitchen. Only then did she scoop her two eggs out of the pan. She didn't know whether the dining room was open, so she just remained there, dipping slices of toast into the egg and nibbling on it.

It felt strange to have no set routine.

In the hospital, everything had happened to a schedule: waking up, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the space in between each filled with medical checks and pills and capsules and all kinds of things that made her shiver with recollection. 

There were no pills now. No medicines.

Sometimes, she wondered if there should be, something to stop the frantic patter of her heart when she knew she shouldn't be scared. She felt afraid so often, and she wished there was something she could swallow to deal with the fear, to let her be braver than she was.

All she could do was do the brave thing and hope bravery would follow.

She tidied up the kitchen, then fetched her shoes and coat and ventured out into the day. 

No one shouted out. No one told her to stop. No one tried to pull her back and close her away.

The wind was brisk and cool on her skin, and she closed her eyes, turning her face into the breeze. She could smell the tang of the sea, and though she couldn't say why, it made her think of home, of her father. They had never lived by the sea. It didn't make any sense for her to think of him because of that scent, but something... something felt familiar.

It hurt that she couldn't recall his face. She tried to think, remember him, but the time before the hospital was a blur of faded faces and unfamiliar voices.

As tempting as it was to make her way to the prison, she knew she had to be brave - or try to be - and see the world that she was meant to live in now. 

Rose slipped her hands into her pockets, took a deep breath, and made her way down the steps, towards the street.

If Storybrooke had been a big place, a city, it would have been terrifying. It was bad enough now, with quiet roads and few people walking here and there. She tried to tell her it was just an adventure, as if she had stepped through the looking glass in Alice in Wonderland, and it helped a little.

Some people nodded to her in passing, smiled, friendly at a distance.

Rose curled her fingers in against her palms, until her nails were digging in. She could smile on the surface and pretend to be calm, but her heart was racing and she could feel the prickle of sweat on her skin. The sharp pain in her palms helped. It was something she could control: relax her fingers just enough so it only ached, or press harder to make it sting.

She walked down the sidewalk, looking into the store windows. She had no money, which she knew was necessary, but there was no harm in looking. She stopped at the flower shop, the scent of lilies wrapping around her. There were so many flowers, all colours and shapes, so much for her to take in.

She heard the jingle as someone opened the shop door. "Can I help..."

Rose looked up from the flowers at the man in the doorway. He was middle-aged, heavy-set, and she could see the colour draining from his face. 

"Belle?" he said hoarsely.

Rose flinched back. "No," she said.

He stared at her like he was seeing a ghost, his hands curling by his sides. “I know you didn’t want to see me, sweetheart, but I’m glad you came by.”

She shook her head, backing away a step. Another nameless face, another person she didn’t know. “I’m sorry. I think you’re confusing me for someone else.” He took a step towards her and she shied back. “I don’t know you.”

He looked stricken, as if she must have been someone important to him. Sweetheart. He called her sweetheart too. Rose shivered. So many men putting names to her, as if she knew if they were telling the truth or just playing with her.

“You really don’t remember, then,” he said quietly. “I’m your father.”

She stared at him, his unfamiliar face, his pale, tired eyes. Nothing about him felt like he was someone she knew. Her father would have been to the hospital to see her. Her father would have come when he heard she was being looked after. He wouldn’t have waited in a store in case she happened to wander by.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not.”

He started to protest, but she couldn’t face it, him, a stranger, and she turned and ran. 

She ran and ran until her chest hurt, until she was away from people, until she was down at the shore, where the wind was picking up and the chill from the sea made her chest ache. She could feel tears on her face, and she brushed them away, too angry and frustrated to let the fear out. 

The rush of the waves on the shore were calming, and she walked down onto the coarse sand, listening to the way it crunched beneath her shoes. It was quiet, only broken by the cries of the seabirds overhead, and the sounds of the sea and the wind. It was open, and big, and for the first time since she had left the hospital, she felt she could just breathe it all in. 

There was a large rock, close by the waterline, and she approached it, sat down.

It felt strange.

For the first time, she was in a place where she could see no walls, not one in any direction, and she felt free.

Rose dragged her feet through the sand, closing her eyes and just breathing.

She was free.

She was in the open world, and for a moment, there was peace, and she was free.

The wind whipped her hair around her face, and she opened her eyes to watch the rise and fall of the waves. It was cold, cold enough to make her shiver, not a place to linger for long. The sky was darkening, and she remembered enough about the weather to know a storm was coming. 

All the same, she stayed until she could see the tide turning, the swells turning greyer as the clouds moved in. Only when the water was close to her feet did she rise and retreat up the beach, and reluctantly turned back in the direction of civilisation and people.

It was tempting to run to the dock, and find the ship that Killian said was there. She could sail away, out into the blue, and no one would lie to her again or try and fool her, or leave her locked away in a place with no sky, no breath of wind, no rush of the sea.

The silence haunted her. 

She remembered the small sounds of her cell beneath the hospital. They were rare, few and far between: the tap of the nurse’s shoes, the rustle of the broom, the scrape of the tray on the floor. But more than anything, there was silence. Deep, suffocating silence that still woke her in her nightmares.

Now, every step she took was surrounded by sound. The sand. A twig caught underfoot. The creak of boats tied to the docks. The slap of water against the hulls. The scream of a gull overhead. It was overwhelming and wonderful and dizzying. 

Without the additional pressure of interacting with people, she could bask in it. 

Every sense was being assailed from every direction, and without the need to try to look brave or confident or smile, she could just let the scents and sounds and sights wash over her in a tide.

Gradually, sounds built upon sounds, as she walked back in the direction of the town.

The clack of high heels made her freeze mid-step.

She recognised the sound.

So much about the world was new now, but the sound of those footsteps remained. 

She knew they came with a dark-eyed face, framed with black hair. She didn’t know who the woman was, only that she would look in through the cell door, in the place that no one else knew about, and in the darkness, it was one of the only faces Rose ever saw.

Rose’s stomach felt like it was shrinking, and she felt cold, shaking all over. 

If she turned, if she sought out their owner, if she saw the woman who smiled at her in her pen, she didn’t know what she would do. If she was brave, she would keep walking, get back to town, to people, but she wasn’t brave. She never was. 

In the hospital, when she wanted to go unnoticed, she would be quiet and still, but in a world of noise and people, it didn’t work, especially not when someone silent and still would only raise more questions.

She curled her fingers and let her nails bite into her palms. If she remained where she was, she would be caught, if she was caught, she would be imprisoned again, if she was imprisoned again, all the air and life and good things would be taken away.

What would Killian do, she wondered.

He wouldn’t just stand and wait for his enemy to approach him.

He would make sure he could defend himself, and even though he was taller than her and stronger, she knew that was the right advice.

Rose looked around, walking with stiff-legged steps as her old jailer approached. She ducked around the corner of a building, hoping there would be something she could use, and almost sobbing with relief at the sight of some sawn up lumber. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

She pressed against the side of the building, close to the corner, her hands wrapped around a long spar of wood. She could feel splinters cutting into her palms, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was being free and safe and not being caught. 

When the black-haired, black-eyed woman turned the corner, walking like a predator, as if she had the right to hunt Rose down, Rose swung the wooden spar with all of her strength and hit the woman hard across the head.


End file.
